


Liminal Space

by captainafroelf



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Black Character(s), Black Romance, F/M, Female Character of Color, Hotels, Infidelity, Pre-Civil War (Marvel), Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6827893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainafroelf/pseuds/captainafroelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A liminal space, the place of transition, waiting, and not knowing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liminal Space

**Author's Note:**

> I've been listening to a lot of Hozier and Chadwick Boseman might just be the most beautiful person I've ever seen and I don't know how to deal with that so I'm working through some shit. Also, I'm really tired and didn't feel like writing detailed smut for once so I hope you like this because it's a little different that what I usually do :)

Bre firmly believed that hotels were only as good as their bars. If the bars closed early, she’d make a note not to book a room there again. Her work required her to travel, she figured she might as well enjoy herself.

The rest of the hotel was packed with press and foreign dignitaries. Of course she’d have to cover the signing of the Sokovia Accords. _Typical_.

She wasn’t pro-Accords. She’d seen the Battle of New York firsthand, but she also saw Captain America carry her to safety. She saw people cheering the Avengers on from safe spaces. Still, she could understand why people would feel unsafe. Superheroes did need some sort of regulation, but the details weren’t all spelled out yet. How could anyone trust a document whipped up that quickly?

Plus, the Accords weren’t the only thing she had to worry about that weekend. Covering the UN always came with a bit of baggage, and that baggage didn’t even have to show his face for her to think about him.

Whatever. Didn’t matter, hopefully she’d get so drunk she’d sleep through the signing anyway...

...Of course that would also get her fired, and not all newspapers were looking for Black female journalists, she had to take what she could get.

She thought about that and slid her glass away. “I’m gonna fucking kill myself.”

“Not so soon, I would hope.” She knew that voice, that accent. They’d met briefly at another UN meeting about a year or two before. Briefly, and, potentially, a bit scandalously.

“Prince T’Challa.”

“Aubrey.”

She nodded to acknowledge the handsome prince. “You haven’t changed a bit, Your Highness.”

“Neither have you.” The bartender approached him. “Water, please… I must say, I’d thought we’d moved past the formalities.”

Bre chuckled. “Forgive me for feeling like the Prince of Wakanda should be greeted formally by an outsider.”

“An outsider to all except me.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but Manhattan is about as far outside as one can get from Wakanda.” she reminded him. “I get reminded of that distance every time I see your face on a television screen. A rare occurrence but an occurrence nonetheless.”

“Bre, those nights in Vienna were not an accident.”

“Right.”

“It was not something I expected to end that way.”

She shook her head and laughed dryly. “End what way? Huh? What do you mean? Three days of me pouring my heart out and giving my body to you, a total stranger, only to end with you telling me to sneak out of your hotel room before the fucking Dora Milaje find me and eject me themselves?”

T’Challa sighed. “I never meant for it to come across as me ejecting you-”

She put her hand up revealing a wedding ring. “It doesn’t matter any more.”

T’Challa deflated, it took him a moment to process it. “Congratulations, Aubrey.”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing more than a trap to me.” she said. “Our parents arranged it. They would say it was ‘God’s will’, but they arranged it… He’s a businessman. Real successful… Black, like they’d always hoped… Christian…”

“Do you love him?”

She shook her head. “No, I can’t. _He_ doesn’t love _me_ . He tells me almost everyday how disgusted he is with me, how he wants a pretty light skinned submissive girl. I talk too much. I travel too much. I _care_ too much about the world for him... But I don’t have a way out.” T’Challa reached out and took her hand in his, she looked down and pulled her hand back. “And I said my vows.”

“Bre, this isn’t like you.”

She glared at him. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you better than he does.”

Her eyes softened and she looked away. “You don’t know that...”

T’Challa turned his body to face her, moving her hair out of the way of her beautiful face. She was crying, she'd been crying on and off that entire weekend and she couldn't figure out why. He wiped her tears away with his thumb and held her chin up. She was caught in the beauty of him, the tension of the moment. It was as if they were back in that hotel years ago, everything was the same, but so different all at once.

“I know you better than he does.”

* * *

 

Bre couldn’t remember walking out of the bar or riding the elevator to her floor. She couldn’t remember the careful questions about protection or him nibbling on her ear. She was just at her door, T’Challa’s hands at the zipper of her dress, his mouth on hers. She tasted like pure alcohol but he didn’t care. They’d both be drunk tonight.

She pulled away and fumbled to unlock the door. They basically fell inside, a tangle of frantically moving arms and legs headed towards the bed. It wasn’t quite as nice as the suite he was in, but it would do to avoid paparazzi.

He smiled against her lips and she smiled back at him before biting down on his bottom lip. “Be patient, my darling.” Oh, did she listen.

She waited, basically holding her breath until they were both bare. Dark skin illuminated by the yellow streetlight. They both wondered how this happened twice. The first time seemed like lightning, they hadn’t expected it to strike twice.

He marvelled at the sweet sounds she made as he pleasured her with his tongue and with his fingers. Her back arching off the bed as she came undone. Once… Twice…

She pushed him on his back, declaring that it was his turn. Her mouth wrapped around him like a glove. She gave and she gave and she almost received until she pulled off, straddling him.

“I want you to come inside me.” she whispered.

“Anything for you.” he replied, still reeling from his lover’s work.

Once he was inside of her they were both in heaven. They rolled against each other like a machine, like they’d done this a million times. His fingers were in her hair, gripping her, forcing her eyes to face his. Without speaking, he promised not to leave her again, not to leave her with him.

 _I know you better than he does_.

She didn’t come quietly. His fingers moved in circles around her most sensitive point. Her fingernails dug into the skin of his shoulders, and she screamed obscenities as her euphoria rolled over her, pulling him with her. He came inside of her like he promised.

Then, they laid there together, catching their breath. Exhausted, but neither of them could imagine being happier.

* * *

 

“You’re still here.” Bre said.

T’Challa, waking up from the best sleep he’d had in days, smiled at her. She wondered how one man could be so beautiful. How he could think she was…

“I will always be here for you, Bre.” he said. “Like I should’ve been before.”

She looked down at her wedding ring and thought about her husband. He was with someone else, too. She knew it. It was someone he preferred. Why should she force herself to compete?

“Fuck it all.” She slipped the ring off and slammed it on the table. Even if her future wasn’t with T’Challa, it wouldn’t be spent in a loveless marriage either.

“What will you say to him?” he asked her.

She leaned up and lazily kissed his neck and shoulders. “That there’s someone out there who knows me better than he does.”


End file.
